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By Anatoly Liberman

On seeing the second line of the title, some experts in Shakespeare’s diction may have jumped to the conclusion that they are in for another essay on a scurrilous topic. Not quite, unless the subject English spelling is considered obscene by definition. How is it possible for a single vowel letter to have so many values? “Elementary, my dear Watkins,” as Sherlock Holmes did not say in any tale told by Conan Doyle. (Supposedly, the phrase was first used in 1915 by P.G. Wodenhouse in his novel Psmith Journalist. In Conan Doyle, the exchange between Watson and Holmes runs as follows: “’Excellent!’” I cried. “’Elementary’,” said he”. Those famous familiar quotations that everybody knows! They are like the proverbs of Alfred and the sayings of King Solomon. Dozens of works on word history open with Voltaire’s witticism that in etymology vowels count for nothing and consonants for very little. Yet it does not turn up in any of his written works.)

Unless counterbalanced by drastic reforms, long tradition usually makes spelling appear at best antiquated and at worst irrational. “This happens in all languages. For example, let us take English,” to quote a linguist of my acquaintance. We will follow his advice and “take” the letter o. Consider the following list:
bosom, Boleyn, woman;
love, dove, above, come, done;
move, prove;
on, gone;
one, none;
so, toe, nose.
On and nose (the short and the long of it) are taken for granted (so and toe are, in partly like nose), but the others?

I’ll begin with woman. The Old English for woman was wifman. Its long i designated a sound comparable with Modern Engl. ee in wee. Later that vowel underwent shortening, so that the word’s pronunciation began to resemble Modern Engl. wifman, rather than weefman, whereupon f was assimilated to its neighbor and wifman first turned into wimman (with regard to assimilation, compare lem’me go from let me go and leman “lover” from leofman) and then into wiman, for, as time went on, English lost long consonants. Contrary to professors of elocution, “common people” mispronounce words, slur as much as they can, and in general do not care about their delivery. Otherwise they would not have allowed wifman to degenerate into wimman. But they did not stop there. To articulate w, speakers protrude their lips and are not always in a hurry to spread them again. The result of this laziness was that Old Engl. widu “wood,” for instance, yielded wudu. Likewise, wiman became wuman. In the Middle English period, scribes disliked the sequences wu, um, mu, un, nu, and uv (because of too many vertical strokes the letters were hard to separate in reading, the more so as the usual signs for v and w were u and uu respectively) and substituted o for u. This is how uuuman became uuoman, that is, woman. Present day English has no words spelled with initial wu-. The few exceptions are dialectal forms recorded by linguists centuries after the phonetic processes mentioned here had been completed, and the only one most of us know is wuther, thanks to Emily Bronte’s title Wuthering Heights. In the early modern period, short u, except in the north of England, changed to the vowel of Standard English one now hears in shut up. Hence love, dove, above, come, and others. The story of done is more complicated: the change from long o (as in the modern paw or pore) to long u (as in the modern school), the shortening of that u, and the last step to the vocalic value of u in shut up. Womb and woman, which also have o contiguous to w, are still pronounced with the vowel of wuther. The original sound remained intact under the influence of w-.

The lips are active not only in the production of w but also in the production of p and b, and this is why pull and bull are pronounced the way they are. However, sometimes p- and b- could not save the following vowel from change, and alongside put, pull, and bull we have putty, pulp, and bulb. Unfortunately, the pernicious habit of designating the vowel in words like womb with the letter o resulted in the modern spelling bosom. The long stressed vowel of Old Engl. bosom (again as in Modern Engl. paw, pore) changed to long u (the equivalent of Modern Engl. oo), underwent shortening, and has been preserved. Boozom, boozam, or buzom would have made sense. Bosom reminds us of the word’s image that has not existed for at least half a millennium, and this is its only virtue. Anne Boleyn’s name was also spelled Bullen, but the unnatural variant has triumphed. When a word of Modern English is spelled with oo, we may assume that in the past it had a long vowel, regardless of whether its today’s reflex is long (as in food, mood) or short (as in good, hood). But the vowel of wood hardly ever was long. It is often said that conservative English spelling comes students in good stead, for it provides a window to the history of the language. It does, but those who look out of that window should be warned that the glass distorts the picture more than once.

It is now clear why prove and proof are spelled differently. The digraph oo in proof causes no surprise. Prove joined the words with v after o. The difference between prove, move and love, dove is that in the first group the vowel has remained long. Had love and dove withstood shortening, the four words would have rhymed, as they probably did in Shakespeare’s days. Today love/move is a so-called rhyme to the eye—a fact of no importance, since rhyming poetry is all but dead.

Old Engl. an “one” (with long a, as in Modern Engl. father) should have developed like stan, which is now stone, and it did, judging by the pronunciation of only (from anlic) and alone (a fusion of two words). In Middle English, an became on (on as in today’s awning). The rest is less clear. At that time, long vowels and diphthongs behaved similarly in that they could be pronounced with stress on the beginning and on the end, and this is why leosan, for instance, existed in two variants: leosan and leosan. As a consequence of this alternation, Standard Engl. lose, the reflex of leosan, has a dialectal variant lease, which continues leosan. This is also the reason show has a competing spelling shew (among the greats G.B. Shaw used only shew). If choose had sheared the fate of lose, today we would be asked “to cheese/chease our cheese.” Apparently, Middle Engl. on, that is, oon could be oon or oon, depending on the rhythm of the sentence. The variant oon was pronounced uon and won, rhyming with on. Several other dialectal variants of the same type have also been attested. Won became wun and later won, indistinguishable from the past tense of win. The pronunciation wonly was already known in 1570. As is usual with phonetic novelties, educated people first rejected the “vulgar” pronunciation of one with initial w- but were overwhelmed. The result is that today one is not a homophone of own. Most language historians trace the novelty described here (from oon to wun and won) to the British southwest, but it is hard to understand why the local pronunciation of such an important word should have been adopted by the Standard. Perhaps the forms with w- developed in the London area in the “allegro speech” of the capital (a great melting pot at all times) or under the influence of the “lower classes.” Once and none have aligned themselves with one. Spelling passed this tempest by.

The conclusion is obvious: the letter o has so many values because spelling has not caught up with the history of English sounds. Language retaliates sluggishness by producing spelling pronunciations. The fairly recent innovations often and fore-head are not the only examples of this type. Those who know about Coventry only from books sometimes pronounce Cov- as in cover. And indeed, who won’t be lost among Coventry ~ cover ~ over? Other people think that the name of the poet Donne, a homophone of done and dun, should be pronounced with the vowel of on. We can pity the naïve foreigner who missed the difference between worsted, the past tense of the verb worst, and worsted, the fabric, but sad is the lot of a native speaker who so often feels like a foreigner at home.

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Laini Taylor is the debut author of the young adult fantasy novel Blackbringer, first in the FAERIES OF DREAMDARK series. Read my review of the book. Besides writing, she also makes cool creations like this. (View more here.) She maintains two blogs: Growing Wings, about anything and everything from her amazing pink hair to thoughts on movies; and Not for Robots, which is filled with advice for writers.

What was your inspiration for Blackbringer?

The inspiration for the Dreamdark series came, initially, from artwork. To make a long story short, I spent some time a while back designing and painting a line of elaborate, oil-painted fairy paper dolls. I got deeply into creating these three characters: Magpie, Poppy, and Whisper, and while I was painting, I started working out the idea for a faerie story. At first I thought it would be a series for younger girls, that it would be light-hearted and playful like the art, but . . . that’s not what happened.

It’s a funny thing that my art is very bright and happy, but my writing tends to be fairly dark. (My husband is the opposite -- his art is brooding and dark, his writing silly and funny!) So, when I really got to work on this idea, it developed quite naturally into the kind of book I like to read: horror-influenced fantasy for sophisticated young readers (and grownups).

I put those paper dolls away and once I sold the manuscript to Putnam, my husband submitted his much more appropriate art for their consideration, and they liked it, and hired him!

Dreamdark is an imaginative, creative world. What was your world-building process like?

I always loved “world-building” when I was a young writer. As a kid I made maps of fantasy worlds, and I named the forests and mountains and drew in castles and lagoons and bogs and such; it was so much fun. But when I started conceiving of Dreamdark, it was very important to me that it is not really a fantasy world, but our world, our Earth, but from a non-human perspective. In a way, faeries are the personification of nature -- that is, if “nature” could react to human stewardship of the planet. Imagine, if you were of an ancient race that had been living on the planet for many thousands of years and you saw humans rise to dominance, and you had to witness deforestation and the Industrial Revolution, etc, it would be pretty horrific. So, that’s the backdrop here. Though it isn’t really part of the plot, it informs the world-building.

I always had specific real places in mind when I was writing, though the only one that crops up by its human name in Blackbringer is Rome. Dreamdark, by the way, is in Scotland. It’s been so much fun dreaming up a magical “world within a world” -- with all the wonders and horrors of Earth, mixed up with the wonders and horrors of my imagined, magical culture.

The second book takes place in various locations in Asia. I have a huge fascination with exotic flora and fauna, so I’ve loved researching the details of jungle and mountain settings, what kind of leeches there would be, what trees and birds, etc. I love this play between reality and fantasy, our real, magnificent planet inhabited by magical beings with their own cosmology and lore.

In Silksinger, there are caravans of traders that travel amongst the faerieholds, like the Silk Road traders of old, only instead of camels they use dragonflies, and they’re guarded by faerie mercenaries. A few years ago on a trip to Turkey I got to visit some real Silk Road cavaransarays, and those were a big influence. I also had a blast imagining what life might be like for rainforest faeries living amid the monkeys, carnivorous plants, fig vines, etc. Such fun!

Do you outline? If so, what is your outlining process?

I do, but I don’t force myself to follow my outlines. I’ll make a plan and follow it until it clearly doesn’t work anymore, which may be a few chapters, or maybe only a few pages. I find it is impossible to predict how a plot is going to work until I’m actually writing it. That doesn’t mean I don’t spend a lot of time up front plotting; I do. But then, I adapt as I go and re-outline many times in the course of a book. I think of outlines as kind of like “aerial photography” -- they give you an idea of the topography of your story, but it’s superficial. You aren’t going to truly experience your story until you’re down on the ground, walking through it. That’s when it comes alive. That said, that “aerial” view is absolutely crucial to me from the outset. I need to have that sense of where I’m headed -- even if that ends up changing along the way.

The next FAERIES OF DREAMDARK book is Silksinger. Can you tell us anything about the new book?

Silksinger picks up a few months after the end of Blackbringer, and it weaves together two storylines, one involving the characters from the first book, and one following new characters. They’re two young faeries with desperate secrets who meet on a dragonfly caravan crossing the
Sayash Mountains. One is the title character, Whisper Silksinger, the other is a young mercenary who isn’t who he claims. There are hobgoblins and apothecaries and devils, flying carpets and jungles and dungeons and Djinn. I’m just about finished with it now. (Whew!)

How many books are you planning on writing in the series?

The plan is five books, but that might change.

What are your favorite faeries in literature?

You know, I can’t really think of any! It seems a little weird to say this, but I’m not really a “fairy person.” More than fairy stories I love world folklore; it’s the richest vein imaginable to draw from: the whole collective imagination of our species, for all of human history! The amazingly bizarre things that people have dreamt up to explain phenomena like the northern lights, or bad luck, or drought. The monsters and demons and faeries that folk have imagined lurked in their world. That has been more of an influence on me that any particular faeries I can think of in literature.

What were some of your favorite books as a child?

I was (am) a big Madeleine L’Engle fan. I coveted the life of Vicky Austin -- it occurs to me now I really need to reread those books: Meet the Austins, A Ring of Endless Light, Troubling a Star, etc. As I recall, she had scientist parents, spent summers on an island with a stable converted into a library, with books in the stalls (can you imagine? I want that now); she got to swim with dolphins (and, I think, a handsome boy); take a journey to Antarctica, and of course there was romance! I also loved L.M. Montgomery, the three Emily books especially. Other favorites were From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler; Dragonriders of Pern; The Phantom Tollbooth; and The Trumpeter Swan.

What's your favorite thing about being a writer?

I think my favorite part of being a writer is getting to dream stuff up and put it in the world. It dazzles me that I can invent something and then see it -- hold it -- as a real thing: a book! And that other people can read it too. That’s so cool. I love knowing that whatever I imagine, whatever I write, I’m the only one who could ever have written precisely that, and if I didn’t, it would never exist. And the possibilities! It lights my mind on fire. There are so many stories to tell. Now that I’ve figured out how to finish a book (it took me a while to learn that), I wonder how many books I’ll have written by the end of my life. I have a pretty good idea what the next several will be, but who knows? Some other ideas may well cut in line. So much to do! I’d better get to work!

Thanks so much, Laini! I can't wait to read your future books!

by Laini Taylor

How many young adult fantasies have you read with a fairy as the protagonist? Stop and think a moment. Having some trouble, aren't you?

That's what makes Faeries of Dreamdark different from any other fairy story. The main character is a fairy. She's a young (in human years, that is), spirited lassie named Magpie Windwitch. The ensnaring and destruction of devils is her trade . . . devils that clumsy humans are (unknowingly) setting free from captivity. When a dark, mysterious creature - that might not even be a devil - enters Dreamdark, Magpie and her crow friends really have cause for worry. And fear.

For some reason, this book strongly reminded me of the Redwall series. It had the same feel to it as those stories. It took me a little while to get into the book, but once I did I became totally immersed. From the halfway point to the end in particular, I had a hard time setting the book down . . . it was so exciting and good! Faeries of Dreamdark is humorous and thoughtful, and it has a unique kind of magical style to it. From its funny parts to its sad parts, it's obvious that Laini Taylor is quite the powerful storyteller. Despite the slowish beginning, I would highly recommend this book. I had loads of fun with it. Bring on the sequel!

**Originally posted on WORD blog